What's In A Name
by soavezefiretto
Summary: Albus wants to know why his middle name is Severus. Harry tells him and comes to an unsettling conclusion. There's a visit he has to pay. UPDATED. The conversation Harry has been dreading isn't going like he expected - it's worse.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Albus wants to know why his middle name is Severus. Harry tells him and comes to an unsettling conclusion: he must pay a long overdue visit.

Disclaimer: JK Rowling invented the characters and the world, and owns them. We're not pretending to be her, and we don't do this for profit.

Rating: Nothing you wouldn't read in the books. K+

Comment: In the books, we don't see Harry's reaction to Snape's memories, except for the conversation with his son in the epilogue. I needed more closure.

excessivelyperky gave me some excellent advice for this story, many thanks to her.

I do revise orthography and grammar, but errors may have slipped through. English is not my native language.

What's In A Name

by

Miranda

1.

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

"At school, there was... they told me stories..."

"Yes, I imagine."

Harry waited.

---

When he was a child, still living with his aunt and uncle, all he wanted was to be a normal boy, living in a normal family. A father, a mother, maybe a sister or a brother, people who loved him and were glad to have him around. Then, when he came to Hogwarts, all he wanted was to blend in, learn as much as possible about magic. He wished for his newfound life of camaraderie, laughter and study never to end. Most boys dream about being heroes and living fantastic adventures. Everyone wanted to be different than they were. But circumstances had taught Harry soon in life that to wish for adventures was a dangerous thing, and that being different wasn't always as cool as it was made out to be. Only very reluctantly, and almost too late, did he truly accept what wordy journalists and would-be historians were already beginning to call "his fate". For him, it was much simpler: he had accepted who he was, and where he was, and had decided what he wanted to do with it. It was hard, but afterwards, everything fell into place; as if he'd been underwater in an ice-covered lake, and had finally broken through to the surface.

That was many years ago, but he hadn't forgotten how much it had hurt. Hogwarts was a school after all - they were just kids. They couldn't help staring at him, pointing and whispering behind his back - "did you _see_?" "it's _him_!" "did you see the scar?" "shut up, he's coming this way!" And if being The Boy Who Lived was interesting, being his child was quite as interesting - especially once Quidditch-season was over. James hadn't been spared when he first went to Hogwarts, now it was Albus, and in two years it would be Lily's turn to be pointed at and whispered after. You could almost consider it a family tradition.

Of course they knew the stories, Harry and Ginny wanted their children to know who their parents were, where they came from, and what they had to do to make the safe world they grew up in even possible. But for a long time, it was just that: stories. When Ron and Hermione came to visit, they would get into endless arguments over who said what to who and who figured out what. These arguments were usually ended by a sharp head-pounding and a sounding kiss (not necessarily in that order). Sometimes, at the breakfast table, Harry and Ginny would reminisce, about Quidditch games or pranks, and break out in laughter - but other times their faces would get somber, and they'd gather their children around them and tell a story that made Lily climb into her mother's lap and squeeze her eyes shut, while James looked into his father's face with a mixture of horror and fascination, and Albus poked around in his empty plate and pretended not to even be in the room. After the children had run out into the sun to live the mysterious lives children lived during the holidays, full of private anguish and ecstasy, the parents looked at each other, unspoken words hovering around the corners of their mouths.

Although Ginny and he had both asked James to look after his brother, Harry knew that Albus was a quiet boy, much quieter than his older brother and his little sister; he tended to keep things to himself, trying to figure them out on his own. So Harry wasn't surprised that Albus hadn't confided in James, and that he only came to his father now, after almost the whole summer vacation was over, and the trunks to go back for his second year at Hogwarts were already packed. He was standing a few paces away from the armchair where Harry was reading.

---

"Dad, I want to know..."

He fell silent again, his eyebrows knit in a deep frown, too deep for such a slight boy. In that moment, he reminded Harry of Remus Lupin. His heart ached for his son. No matter how much love and warmth his family and friends gave him, he would not have an easy life, this one. He would not let himself.

"Come here, Al." Al took a few steps closer and put his hand on the armchair, still holding himself very straight. Harry put away his book. "What do you want to know? If I know the answer, I promise I will tell you the truth. And if I don't know it, we'll try to find out together. Fair enough?"

"Ok."

"Ok."

"I want to know about my name."

"Your name?" Harry was confused for a moment. He had expected a question about how many people he'd killed during the battle of Hogwarts, or maybe about Hermione and him being sweethearts at some point.

"You know about how I'm called Albus after professor Dumbledore, and how he was so wise and such a great wizard and had that phoenix and all?"

"Yes?"

"And then I'm also called Severus after - after professor Snape?"

"Yes..."

"Well, they told me... they told me..." Harry could see him fiercely fighting back tears.

"Albus, just tell me. What did they tell you?"

"That he was evil! He killed people! Lots of them, thousands! And he killed grandma Lily! And he tried to kill you too! And you named me after him? Why? Why, dad?"

It had all burst out of him, and now he didn't care about the tears either, freely flowing over his face. Harry wanted to just gather him into his arms and tell him it would all be all right, but that wasn't what his son needed right now. What he needed were answers. In the kitchen door he could see his wife, taking in the scene, wide-eyed. Harry knew she had heard Al's explosion, and he knew that her first instinct was the same as his. But she only nodded at him and went upstairs without a word. The mother's time would come later.

"I did tell you why I named you after him. When we said goodbye at the station, do you remember? When you were worried you might get into Slytherin?"

"But I didn't, I didn't! I am Gryffindor, just like you and mom!"

"I know you are. But do you remember what I told you? I told you that you were named after two headmasters of Hogwarts, and what else did I tell you?"

"I don't remember..."

"Yes you do. I told you that Severus Snape was the bravest man I had ever known, and he was a Slytherin, so if you were meant to be a Slytherin, you could be proud. *I* would be proud. That's what I told you."

"Yes, but you didn't tell me about the evil part!"

"Snape was not evil. He was - troubled."

"Then why do you say his name like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like it's something you want to spit out. 'Snape'. Like a snot-flavored Berty's Bean."

Harry sighed. This boy was definitely too smart for his own good.

"Sn-... Severus and I didn't really get a chance to... There were a lot of misunderstandings, and-"

He broke off. Now his son's face was just one big question mark. Harry took a deep breath.

"All right. I will try to tell you the whole story, as best I can. I was around your age when it all began, after all. And you, I believe, are old enough to hear about your father's mistakes."

His son's serious gaze almost broke Harry's heart.

"What about James? Does he know?"

"James hasn't asked me yet. I will tell him when he's ready. And you must promise to let him be the one to ask me, just like you came to me today. Will you promise me that?"

"So it's a secret?" A tentative grin began to creep over Albus' face. Knowing a secret that his father was telling *him*, just him, and not James, was just too delicious, even for a such a serious boy.

"No, it's not a secret. But it's not an easy story, and just as you had to know now, there will be a time for James to find out. This is important, so you have to promise. Promise, Albus."

"I promise." In the face of his father's intensity, the grin disappeared, and only the deep earnestness of an eleven-year old boy remained.

"All right. Sit down, this will take a while. When I first came to Hogwarts, I hated Severus Snape on first sight."


	2. Chapter 2

2.

"I couldn't help it. I loved everything about Hogwarts and the wizarding world, and I wanted everyone to love me. I wanted to be the best student, the best friend, the best wizard, so everyone would want to keep me and I wouldn't have to go back to my aunt and uncle, to Dudley and the broom closet. But Snape - professor Snape, I could sense he hated me, and I hated him back, without even knowing why. Of course, he looked black and gloomy and had greasy hair, but there was something more. At first I feared him, but the dislike and mistrust soon overcame the fear. The more I got to know about Voldemort, about my own story, the more dangerous things got around me, the more my anger at him grew.

As much as I hated Snape, I admired and trusted Dumbledore. I was so certain that Snape was a Death Eater, that he was working for Voldemort and against us - I couldn't understand why Dumbledore was always protecting him. How could such a wise man not see through him? It was so obvious!

Dumbledore kept insisting that Snape was on our side and that he trusted him implicitly. Even when I had evidence that Snape had, indeed, acted to protect me, had even saved my life more than once, I still was convinced that he was evil. In my mind, he was even worse than, say, Lucius Malfoy, because Lucius at least had never hidden which side he was on. When Voldemort managed to get back some of his human form, things got much more serious - you've heard about that, when Dumbledore was replaced by professor Umbridge and she started to forbid stuff like holding hands or wearing funny hats. When she made me write with that bewitched quill, as a punishment, do you remember? Well, I was also having very bad dreams around that time, only they weren't dreams: you see, Voldemort had managed to reach into my mind. I was slowly going mad without being aware of it, so Dumbledore said I had to learn Occlumency, to make my mind stronger and capable to resist Voldemort's attacks. And the only person skilled enough at Occlumency was Snape.

It's hard to discipline your mind when you're fifteen years old. You don't want to sit and focus on abstract images in your mind, you want to grab your wand, run out and *do* something. But if it had been any other teacher, I might have made a serious effort, and I think I would finally have understood that learning this was the most important thing I could do, because it would give me a real chance against Voldemort. Instead, I just concentrated on how much I despised Snape, didn't listen to a word he said, and tried to forget whatever he *had* managed to teach me as soon as I could. I was sure that just being in the same room with him was bringing me closer to Voldemort in some way, and that was what I was most afraid of.

Of course, my friends, tried to talk to me. Especially Hermione, you know how she is. But I wouldn't listen. And that's how I led them all into the Ministry of Magic and straight into Voldemort's trap. That's how Sirius died. I've told you all about that. Not a day goes by that I don't think of him, and it has taken me many many years to stop blaming myself for his death. The truth is, we did the best we could: the times were dangerous, and maybe Sirius wouldn't have survived the year anyway. Or the next. But it is also the truth that he probably wouldn't have had to die that night, if I hadn't been so childish and stubborn and hadn't refused to learn Occlumency.

You've also heard about the night Dumbledore died. Now, we've told you that Death Eaters managed to get into Hogwarts and killed Dumbledore. But we didn't tell you which Death Eater did it. Well, it was Snape. I was under my father's cloak and I saw it all. Draco Malfoy was pointing at Dumbledore with his wand - the father of Scorpius Malfoy, he was also sorted this year, into Slytherin, of course? Right. Well, Draco was just as young and confused as I was, maybe even more, and he was very afraid, because Voldemort had threatened to kill him and also his mother and father, if he didn't succeed in killing Dumbledore. But - and this is very important, remember, I was there, so no matter what anyone tells you, you will know the truth - Draco did not kill Dumbledore. He just - couldn't. When other Death Eaters arrived and started urging him to do it, Snape pushed him aside, and used the unforgivable curse.

I was mad with rage. I loved Dumbledore, I trusted him, and without him I felt so utterly lost. I wanted to kill Snape, I really did, but he escaped, with Draco. I swore to myself that I would take my revenge. Then, during the last phase of our fight against Voldemort, Snape was always by his side, finally showing his true character openly - so I thought. Now even Hermione and Ron were convinced of Snape's evil. I was sure that somewhere along the way I would get the chance to kill him - and I had been hardened enough to believe I would do it. I don't know if I would have - could have. Luckily, I was never in that situation. On the last night, the night of the Battle of Hogwarts, we had followed Snape to the Screaming Shack, and there we saw how Voldemort killed him - he killed one of his most devoted servants, just because his death was useful to him. We watched Voldemort walk away, sure of his triumph and I - I don't know what I felt, if I felt anything at all, but I took off the cloak and went closer, and knelt beside Snape, the man I had hated for so long, the man I had longed to kill. Snape managed to expel his last thoughts visibly, so I could catch them with my wand and later look at them in a Pensieve - you know what that is, don't you? And when I had his thoughts securely bottled up, he just said: "Look at me." I didn't understand, but I looked into his eyes, they were so black, and as I was looking, I saw the life seep out of them, and he was dead."


	3. Chapter 3

3.

"I managed to get to Dumbledore's office and put Snape's thoughts in the Pensieve, and that's when I learned the truth, I truth I couldn't even have guessed at. You see, Snape knew my mother, your grandma Lily, since they were both children, and he loved her very much. The thought that Snape could love anyone had never even crossed my mind, but when I looked in the Pensieve, I could *feel* it, and I knew it was true. Snape had a very unhappy childhood, not unlike mine, and for a long time, Lily was his only friend. At Hogwarts, they were sorted into different houses, Lily into Gryffindor and Snape into Slytherin, and they started to drift apart. Snape was angry, confused, unhappy, just like I was at his age, like Draco was, too. I suppose at fifteen we are all much more alike than we like to believe. There was no one to counsel him, and so he chose the wrong way: he joined Voldemort and became a Death Eater, because he thought if he got very powerful and could hurt all the people who had hurt him in return, it would make him feel better. But it didn't. Instead, in his anger and blindness, he made a terrible mistake - not knowing who it was about, he told Voldemort of a prophecy about a child that would defeat him. When he learned that it was about Lily, that the child of the prophecy was *her* child, he almost went mad with guilt. He went to Dumbledore and pleaded with him to save her; in return, he pledged his loyalty to Dumbledore's cause, promised to work for him, act as a spy... anything to save Lily. But even though Dumbledore and The Order of the Phoenix took every precaution, Lily and James were still betrayed and died - you know about that too, and about how I found out about Wormtail and first met Sirius.

The woman he loved, the one pure, good thing in his life, the one person who had showed him affection, was dead, and it was because of him: Snape didn't know what to do with all his pain and grief. So Dumbledore showed: to redeem himself and to give sense to his live, he had to protect Lily's son - me, until the prophecy had come true and Voldemort had been defeated. From that moment on, that was Snape's only purpose in life. It didn't make him like me, of course - on the contrary, he *did* hate me, at least I'd gotten that right. Snape's mind was twisted by terror, and grief, and the horrible things he had seen and done, and now he blamed me for all that. He couldn't stand the sight of me, especially because I looked so much like my father, James, the man that, in his mind, had taken his place at Lily's side.

But he was true to his promise. He looked out for me, he always had my back. The one favor he asked of Dumbledore was that no one should ever know, and that's why Dumbledore couldn't convince me of Snape's loyalty. And when Dumbledore felt the end was near because Draco had attempted to kill him several times and had managed to weaken him, he asked Snape to kill him. I saw it, in the Pensieve, while the Battle of Hogwarts was raging around me, and I know this too is true. Dumbledore knew he had to die that night. He wanted to protect Draco, and he also had other special plans - something to do with his wand, and Voldemort's, and mine... that's complicated, I'll tell you about that some other time. What matters is, that he *wanted* Snape to kill him - he asked him to, and he knew it was too much to ask. Snape may have been twisted, but Dumbledore's company did have its influence on him, he'd come to trust, even like him, although he'd never admit it. It almost tore him apart, but he kept going, and going, and going, just like he had all the years before, because he couldn't fail my mother. Also, he had promised Narcissa, Draco's mother, that he would protect her son, so, you see, now there were *two* angry, confused, and utterly ungrateful boys he had to protect.

And he did it. And in the end, when he died, all he wanted was to look into my eyes, because they are like my mother's eyes - for that moment, he let himself believe he died looking at her. I hope, I really hope, that he died happy."


	4. Chapter 4

4.

"So that is the story of Severus Snape, the way I learned it, straight from his own thoughts, mere minutes after he'd died, still protecting me, and the memory of my mother. And that is why I told you that he is the bravest man I have ever known. For although I have known a lot of brave men and women, no one had to fight as hard and as long against an enemy so powerful and so cruel: his own guilt, his own demons.

And that is also why I told you I would be proud if you were sorted into Slytherin, and I meant it. If a man like Severus Snape was shaped by Slytherin House, there must be many an admirable thing to learn there."

They sat silent for a long time. The sun had long set, and they both took comfort in the shadows that surrounded them and blurred their faces. Just as he had waited patiently for Albus to come forth with his question, Harry now waited to see if his son wanted to share his answer.

"So... he could never tell you that he was really on the good side all along."

"No. He couldn't do it himself. That's why he gave me his thoughts, so I would know the truth."

"And even though he'd told Dumbledore he didn't want anyone to know, in the end he *did* want you to know."

"Well... yes, I suppose so. He was dying, and saw me beside him - I can't know, but perhaps he felt all his pain and suffering would have been useless if I still believed he was evil. Maybe in that moment he was afraid no one would ever tell me, that no one would ever know who he really was. No matter how bitter and stubborn, no one can like that thought, not when they're about to die. But that's only my guess."

"Do you think he would have told you? I mean, if things had gone differently, if Voldemort hadn't killed him, but you'd still defeated him?"

"You know, I've often wondered about that myself. Maybe he wouldn't have thought it was necessary. Maybe, who knows, he would have been able to know some peace. He could have gone away, started over somewhere where no one knew him."

"Do you wish that's what would have happened?"

"I don't know, son. I think now that - at that time I wasn't ready to talk with him. Everything was just too raw, too recent, I was still too confused. But in time - yes, I would have liked to talk to him. I think - or I want to believe - that we could have been friends. Or at least - I could have learned from him - we all could have, and now all that, all that made him such a special, unique person, is gone. That's sad."

"So that's why you named me Severus?"

"I - suppose I wanted to show him that I think of him, and that I'm grateful. Wherever he might be. I think that's what I regret the most. Not having been able to say thank you, at least."

"Well, I don't know if it's the same, but you could always say it to his picture."

"What?"

"He was headmaster of Hogwarts. Won't his picture be hanging in the headmaster's office, with all the others? And won't it be a magical one, that you can talk to, and it talks back as if it was the real person, only he can't get out of the picture?"

With those words. his son had pulled the ground away under Harry's feet. He felt as if he was falling into a deep hole, and he had to close his eyes to shut out the vertigo.

"Dad? Daddy? Are you ok?"

"Yes... yes, I'm ok. I'm sorry, Al. It wasn't easy to talk about all that stuff, and I've talked so much... Will you do something? Will you bring me a glass of water?"

"Yes, dad."

Harry emptied the glass in three long gulps and felt better.

"Thanks. Now, go upstairs and talk to your mother, I think she's waiting for you."

"Ok." Al started towards the stairs, then turned back.

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Are you going? To Hogwarts? You know - to talk to the picture?"

Harry tried not to flinch and looked his son straight into the eye.

"I don't know, son, I don't know. I know I should try, but I don't know if I can."

An unexpected, brilliant smile spread out over Al's face.

"I know you will. Because you're the bravest man *I* know." He ran over to his father, hugged him, kissed him, and then bolted up the stairs. Harry sat still in the dark, but his mind was already traveling, traveling, across the country, to the spikes and towers of Hogwarts, and up up up the stairs to the headmaster's office, where a pale face and a pair of coal-black eyes were waiting for him - for how long had they been waiting? Was an image, even a magical image, able to build up resentment? How much of the real man's feelings, if any, were contained in those ornate gold frames? Or were there just memories, a preservation of facts, with no emotion behind them? Could a "thank you" an "I'm sorry" move them?

Harry stood up. He would find out soon enough - tomorrow, he was going to Hogwarts. There was a visit he had to pay, and it was long overdue.


	5. Chapter 5

5.

Mounting the stairs to the headmasters office, Harry didn't feel much different than all the times he had come the same way during his stay at Hogwarts as a student: heart pounding, knees threatening to knock against each other, mouth dry, uncertain of what to expect, but pretty sure it was not going to be a surprise party. He wondered vaguely if everyone felt this way when they came back to their old school as adults.

"Harry! This *is* a pleasant surprise!"

Minerva McGonagall stood on the middle of her office, a broad smile on her face, her arms outstretched. As Harry took both her hands and squeezed them in his, she squinted to take in his expression.

"Unless - Harry, is there something wrong? You look awfully pale. Sit down. Tell me. Is everything all right? The children?"

"I'm fine, fine. Everyone's fine." Harry sighed. "Why is it, Minerva, that whenever I look a little off, everyone immediately starts thinking of apocalyptic doom?"

McGonagall harrumphed, then crossed her arms in front of her breast with a decisive gesture.

"Who said anything of apocalyptic doom? I merely noticed that you look like you were just released from Azkaban."

She sat down behind her desk and gave him that look that was so peculiar to her, a mix of concern, warmth, and relentlessness.

"I see old habits die hard."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, let's just say you've always had a tendency to slightly exaggerate your own importance."

Harry chuckled. "You're probably right. You're certainly not the only one who used to think so."

Involuntarily, his eyes went up and searched the pictures that covered the office's walls. There was Dumbledore, cheerfully waving a hello. Harry raised his hand tentatively and gave a little wave in return. Nigellus Black was ostensively reading a book and pretending not to pay any attention to the visitor. All the other headmasters and headmistresses were excitedly chatting, crossing from one picture to the other, forming little groups and separating again, looking at Harry openly and curiously, or sliding sidelong glances at him, depending on their personality. It had been a long time since The Boy Who Lived had been in this office, and in spite of the perpetually tousled and unruly hair, in spite of the perennial round glasses, and the still visible lighting bolt scar on his forehead, it was plain to see that he was a boy no longer. There were too many lines around his eyes, too many gray hairs on his head, too many lost friends in his eyes.

Gradually, the chattering voices coming from the pictures died down, and an expectant silence rose.

"So, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?"

McGonagall had adopted a slightly ceremonial tone, having sensed that this was an occasion of some significance to Harry.

"I..." Harry shifted in his seat, took a deep breath, made a new start. "You know, I thought this would be easier."

"Is there anything I can help you with?"

"I wish there was. The truth is that I am here to speak to Professor Snape."

Harry raised his voice. He was not stating his intention, he was proclaiming it. Snape's pale black figure had not been among the chattering pictures moving forward and backward. Everyone was back in their frames, there was only one empty picture, to the right of Albus Dumbledore. He was nodding now, mirroring McGonagall.

"I see." She looked up at Dumbledore. "My dear Albus, will you tell Severus that Harry Potter is here to see him?"

"It will be my pleasure." With a thoughtful look back at Harry, Dumbledore walked out of his frame.

"He has another picture in the potions classroom. He spends considerable time there, making the potions teachers very nervous. I think he enjoys it tremendously", McGonagall explained, an almost invisible smile playing around the corners of her mouth.

"Huh."

This was a pretty dumb reaction, and Harry was keenly aware of it. He couldn't help but being disappointed by McGonagall's matter-of-fact approach. For some reason, he'd expected shock, disbelief, maybe even an attempt to dissuade him. A part of him, he now realized, wanted McGonagall or Dumbledore to provide him with all kinds of good reasons why it was *not* a good idea for him to talk to Snape: old wounds that had healed, no need to stir up the past, something along those lines. Maybe, so he'd hoped, they would tell him that it made no sense at all because the Snape in the picture had nothing to do with the Snape they had known. Snape was dead and that was that. Go home, Harry. Go home to your wife and your children.

"I'm sure he'll be glad to see you."

McGonagall was trying to ease his tension. Only now Harry noticed that he had been gripping the armrests until his knuckles protruded, white and bony.

"I truly doubt that, Minerva. I don't think Severus Snape has ever been *glad*, or even knows what that means."

The headmistress' eyebrows knotted together, and her air of calm and ease vanished, leaving only a look of steel that bore itself straight into Harry's skull.

"If you are going to bring the same prejudices and preconceptions you had twenty years ago, you might as well turn around and go back home. I will not allow them in this office."

Dumbfounded, Harry opened his mouth to explain, or defend himself, or apologize, he himself didn't know what. But before he could form the words, another voice spoke:

"Welcome back, Harry Potter."


	6. Chapter 6

6.

He'd thought he was prepared.

Harry knew it was going to be a challenge to see Snape again. He had conjured those features in his mind again and again, trying to placate the instinctive mistrust and rejection that his son had picked up with such casual assurance. "Like it's something you want to spit out".

He had even stood in front of the mirror and rehearsed his greeting. "Hello, Professor." Humble, but not submissive. Look him in the eyes, but don't defy him. Smile, but don't show glee. "Hello Professor. Last time I saw you, you were dying and I kind of hated your guts, so I thought it was time to have a little talk." Wonderful.

And there he was: just as pale, black-haired and black-clad as he'd ever been, on his face the same impenetrable mask he had so often worn. Just what Harry had expected, just what he had so anxiously prepared for. But he didn't smile, or look him in the eye. He couldn't even rise. His heart stood still, his blood stopped flowing, and an irresistible, overwhelming force swept him up and rushed him back through time and space, until everything stopped: he was seventeen again, kneeling beside him, and his eyes burned on Harry's skin. "Look at me."

It was the voice. The same voice that had snarled "Potter" at him so many times; whimpered "I'm sorry, I'm sorry", crumbled at the feet of Albus Dumbledore; screamed "do not call me coward!", wavering on the edge of madness; rasped its last words into the ear of a boy who did not care. That voice had haunted Harry's dreams long after he had made his peace with everything else; it had been the thing he had worked hardest to forget, and he had succeeded so completely that now it took him completely unawares and nearly knocked him out.

But he had to say something. He realized that everyone was expecting some kind of reaction from him, so he cleared his throat, and instead of a firm and manly "hello", managed to croak out a feeble "Professor...?"

"Will you be all right?", McGonagall asked. Harry started to nod, but then he saw that her words were not meant for him - she was talking to Snape's picture.

"Of course, Minerva."

McGonagall turned around and addressed the rest of the pictures. "I would like to ask you all to offer Professor Snape and Mr. Potter some time of privacy. It is an inconvenience, I know, but it would be very much appreciated."

A moment of astonished silence was followed by a few minutes of scuttling, shuffling, murmuring and grumbling, until almost every frame in the room was empty. Dumbledore remained in his, eyeing Harry placidly, who still seemed incapable to move or utter a sound.

"You too, Professor Black, if you'd be so kind."

Nigellus looked up from his book and pretended to only now take in what was happening around him. "What do you mean? You- Oh, I see. Well, of course. If it is Professor Snape's wish, I will naturally oblige. There seem to be less and less of us Slytherins nowadays, we must stick together, eh?" He wiggled his eyebrows at Snape significantly, but Snape didn't even look at him. In fact, Snape was masterfully managing to not look at anyone or anything at all. His expression was stony, and his eyes as dead as they'd been when Harry had last seen him, lying on the wooden floor of the Screaming Shack. This is hopeless, Harry thought, his courage sinking even lower.

Nigellus retired, trying to make his back particularly offensive. Dumbledore nodded at Harry, then at Snape, and also walked out of his picture. Snape nodded back at him, and Harry thought he'd caught a glimmer of something in his eyes, but it could also have been a trick of the light. Lastly, McGonagall left her office, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder on her way out. Suddenly, all the warmth was back in her eyes, and that was what gave Harry the strength to finally stand up. That, and the the thought of his son's deep blue eyes. So deep that they sometimes looked black.

In the now empty office, Harry walked up to Snape's picture and said "Hello, Professor Snape" with (almost) no hesitation.


	7. Chapter 7

7.

"What brings you back to your old stomping ground, Potter? Checking in on the offspring? I wouldn't worry, from what I've heard, they are almost as annoyingly popular as you were, and might I add, entirely unimaginative. Not a single visit to the headmistresses office yet. How very disappointing."

Not for a second did Harry think of being offended. He was busy trying not to show too much of the surprise he was feeling. Surprise and all kind of other emotions that he preferred not to analyze just now. Snape was making small talk!

Of course, it wasn't *nice* small talk, but still, from the moment Snape had opened his mouth to speak, it was clear to Harry that he knew why Harry was here, and more than that, that he knew or at least suspected how hard it was for him, and so he tried to ease him into the conversation by giving him the chance to talk about his children, a welcome subject for any proud father. Harry even suspected that he was being deliberately impolite to give Harry an assuring feeling of "old times".

"That's not what I heard from Professor McGonagall. James loses points for his house practically on a daily basis."

"Unfortunately, he earns them all back playing that idiotic ball game. I've tried to explain to Minerva a thousand times that children will never learn about real consequences in such a flawed system, but she never listens."

"I think we should let children be children. They will learn about consequences soon enough, don't you agree, Professor?"

The impassible mask on Snape's face seemed to waver, but he didn't answer. The moment of respite was over. Come on, Harry, you've faced your own death at the hands of Lord Voldemort, you can face this!

"Professor, I am very sorry I haven't come to see you much sooner. I realize it is unforgivable, but-"

"I would exercise more caution in the use of that word, Potter. We both have seen, and one of us has done, unforgivable things. You, on the other hand, are merely sloppy and self-centered. Some things never change."

For the second time this evening, Harry opened his mouth to defend himself, but had to close it again. This time no one had interrupted him. Wasn't Snape right? Hadn't he been *relieved* that Snape was dead, so he could avoid an awkward scene? Hadn't it been his eleven-year old son who'd urged him to have the conversation he'd been avoiding with such a clear conscience for so long?

"Maybe they do change. If I hadn't changed, at least a bit, I wouldn't be here."

"And why are you here, Potter? You still haven't told me."

"I'm here to say I am sorry. I am sorry you had to go through all you went through. I am sorry you had to suffer so much, even at the hands of my father and his friends. I am sorry you didn't find anyone you could love and trust, that you were so lonely all your life. I'm sorry it was so hard for you to protect me. And I am sorry I hated you so much, because I was too blind and stupid to see the truth. I am sorry you had to die, and I am sorry that even now no one knows or cares about the person you really were."

Harry stopped to catch his breath. The intensity, and the earnestness, of his little outburst had taken him by surprise.

"The person I really was. You think you know me, do you, Potter? Because, in a moment of weakness, I let you share a few selected moments of my life, you think you *know*, and you feel entitled to feel sorry for me. You say you've changed, but frankly, I don't see it. You're still so sure of yourself, so infallible, still measuring and judging by your own standards. Only interested in what *you* see."

"Well then, enlighten me! Show me how to see things differently!"

"I'm afraid it would be useless."

"Maybe not. You know, you are right. I have been used to things going my way, to people patting me on the shoulder and saying 'you're all right, Harry'. And you know what? I lied before. I didn't come here because I'd changed. I came here because my son sent me, my son! He's eleven years old, and he said I should come and talk to you, and it scared me so much that I knew I had to. I thought there wouldn't be anything to scare me anymore for the rest of my life, that I'd left all that behind, but now I know there's a big black hole in my life. *You* are that hole, and it hurts, damn it, it hurts!"

Harry had made no effort to conceal the despair in his voice. This conversation was not going like he'd thought, not at all. And why was he shouting like that? He looked at his hands and noticed they were shaking. He was thankful for the even calm in Snape's voice.

"Why did your son send you here?"

"My...? Oh, that. It's a long story. He wanted to know about his name, and one thing led to another..."

"His name? It's Albus, isn't it? After Dumbledore. What else is there to know, and what does that have to do with me?"

He doesn't know, Harry thought. I can't believe he doesn't know. Why didn't Dumbledore tell him, or McGonagall? Because they were waiting for you to do it, another voice inside him immediately answered. Of course.

"His middle name. Albus Severus Potter. That's his name."

"Albus Sev- You named him... named him..."

"After you, yes. I am sorry, I should have told you before."

A long silence followed. So long, that Harry began to think it wouldn't be broken, that there wasn't anything more to say. He looked at Snape's picture to try and read his expression, and that's when he saw something he wouldn't have believed possible, although he had seen it before: tears streaming down that long, pasty white face, dripping down the hooked nose. Snape's expression was one of utter helplessness and shame, that of a man exposed. But he didn't look away. Instead, he looked Harry in the eyes and said:

"Thank you."


	8. Chapter 8

8.

_You're welcome_ would have been a terribly pathetic answer. Harry racked his brain for something better, something *meaningful*. What a perfect moment to wind up with a blank mind. _I had to_ was maybe closest to the truth, and yet, it wasn't, because he didn't *have* to, didn't he? No one put a wand to his head and told him he had to name his second son after the two men he'd loved and feared most. He hadn't made a promise, and very few people knew, actually.

He remembered telling Ginny, very hesitantly, about his idea, and what did she think, only if she was okay with it, of course, and if she wasn't, he would understand, babbling away, almost hoping she would be against it. Maybe she'd think that it was a heavy and ungainly name for such a little boy, or that it had too much history, better not to think of it anymore... But Ginny just looked at him with those fiery, diamond eyes of hers, and smiled. "I think that's a wonderful idea, Harry. Wonderful."

Ron seemed surprised, but then nodded thoughtfully: "Seems kind of fitting", was all he said. And Hermione had stared at him for about ten seconds and then thrown her arms around him and almost crushed his lungs in a fierce embrace, whispering into his ear "I am so proud of you!".

Harry himself didn't feel very proud. He felt like a fraud. He wasn't naming his son after Snape as an homage, or even as an attempt to make up for past mistakes. No, his reason was fear. A superstitious fear that he couldn't control, of something, some black poison, coming back to haunt him and his family, this new life he had built for himself and that he'd give his life to protect. The name was a talisman. And telling Snape about it was like giving it back, or taking away its protective powers.

He was afraid again, he could feel the poison clouding his veins already. He was alone, no family, no friends to help him, confronted with his deepest fears. The one place he'd thought he'd never be again. And just like he'd learned to do when he was nothing but a boy, he did what he did best: let go of all thought, of all preconception, and take a leap of faith.

"Don't thank me. I didn't want to do it."

"Then why did you?"

"Because- I don't really know. I felt like I had to. Like something terrible would happen if I didn't. To my family. To my son."

"That's superstitious gibberish. It's just a name, Potter." Snape was trying to regain his composure.

"No. It's more than a name, and you know it. I don't think you realize how much I still feared you, how much I-" He stopped. Just one more word and he would have gone too far.

"Hated me? How much you hated me, is that what you wanted to say?"

Harry took a deep breath. "Yes."

"And you still do?"

"I - no. No, I don't."

Snape looked away, somewhere beyond the dark frame of his picture. Harry wondered what he saw there. Did he have a whole life there, shared with others who had passed to the other side of the veil? Was his mother there, his father? Sirius? Were Remus and Tonks watching over Teddy still?

"Then we're even." Snape was looking at him again, and for the first time in all the years he had known him, the mask of bitterness seemed to have been lifted off his face. What was left was an infinitely tired man, tired of pain, the pain he had inflicted, and the pain he had seen inflicted on others and been unable to prevent.

"I have hated you too, and for too long. I suppose - I knew it was wrong to hate an innocent child, but I couldn't help it. After all, it was you who had torn Lily away from me."

"Me? But - she fell in love with my father... married him. Even before that, what I saw..." Harry was conscious of speaking and acting like a boy again, but he wasn't ashamed. Somehow it felt appropriate. All this had happened when he was a boy; he had carried that boy inside him all his life; and after today, that boy would be no more.

"What you saw in the memories I gave you? Yes, that. It is true, we- she had turned away from me long before she married. But, you see, that doesn't mean I accepted it. Lily - your mother, Harry, was all I ever had. Literally." In spite of the painful memories he was conjuring, there was now a sweetness on Snape's face, around his eyes and his mouth, that Harry would never have believed possible. Then, of course, he was speaking to a dead man, so *possible* didn't really seem to be an issue anymore.

"As impossible as it may seem to you, I had managed to convince myself - or at least part of myself, however that may be - that she would come back to me. Oh, not as a wife, or a lover, I never thought as far as that. It was enough for me that she should talk to me, that I should have a place in her life that belonged only to me... " His voice broke for a moment but he recovered quickly. "Even when we were no longer friends, even when she became involved with - your father, and eventually married him, I believed that one day, somehow, she would just - be there again. Hold out her hand again and say 'come on, Sev, let's not be cross anymore'."

Snape turned his face away, and in that moment Harry wanted nothing more than to step through the frame, stand in front of the man he had feared and hated for so long, and do exactly that: hold out his hand to him, and assure him, from the bottom of his heart, that no one was cross anymore, that all was past, forgotten, erased... If only that had been possible.

"How an adult and otherwise uncommonly sharp and intelligent man could hold fast to such notions, I don't know. I suppose everyone needs illusions. That fact is that when I heard she was with child, my last hopes, unreasonable as they were, died."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Maybe I just needed a reason, an outward sign. I thought that now that she was pregnant, all memory of me, if she even retained it, would vanish." He took a deep breath and went on. "That is when I started hating you, and for that I owe you an apology, Harry Potter."

On any other day, hearing these words would have seemed outrageous and downright impossible to Harry, a sure sign that he was delusional, or that the world was coming to an end. Today, he took it in his stride.

"She would have, you know?"

"Who would have what?"

"My mother. She would have come to you. At the slightest sign that you had changed, even after... after everything. She didn't give up on people."

Snape was mute, the expression on his face stricken. Harry could almost see the conflict taking place inside him: could he let hope in? Could he give himself permission to believe in the only redemption that mattered to him - the forgiveness of the only human being he had ever loved? Or would he choose mistrust and sheer misanthropy again? After all, mistrust and misanthropy had served him well for so long, they were comfortable, trusted companions, and how much could a dead man change, anyway?

As sure as he'd known he had to go and speak to Snape's portrait after his conversation with Al, Harry knew now that is was the moment to leave. What had to be said, had been said. Severus Snape's struggles were not his to witness.

"Professor..."

"Yes?" Snape seemed to emerge from a dream, his voice was far away.

"I have to leave now. I - " What did one say after a conversation like this? _It was nice talking to you? Let's do it again sometime?_

"Yes, yes. All right. Erm, don't let me keep you Potter. I'm sure you'll want to... go back to your... well, family. All that."

Harry repressed a smile. Yes, that was exactly what he wanted to get back to. He nodded to Snape, who was already turning away, about to step through the frame to wherever he was when he was not in his picture, and started to walk out of the room. Snape's voice called him back.

"Potter?"

"Yes, Professor?"

"Your son..."

"Yes?

"Will you... well, I... should like to meet him. I wonder if you could... only if he's willing, of course..." Clearly, Snape was not used to asking favors.

"Of course. I'll tell him, and I'm sure he will be very happy to come and see you."

"Allow me to doubt that", Snape sneered.

"You don't know Al, Professor. He will come, and he will be happy."

Snape opened his mouth, then shut it again. After a short pause, he said:

"He must be an unusual boy."

"Oh, yes. Yes he his."

"Well, then - I shall... look forward to his visit."

Without another word of acknowledgement or goodbye, he took a step a vanished out of sight. Harry was left standing alone, with a smile on his face and a lightness in his heart he hadn't felt in quite a long time.

On his way home, he thought about family. All that.


End file.
